


Dog Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

by Lightningcatters



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dogs, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon Fluff, YOI Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-23 12:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningcatters/pseuds/Lightningcatters
Summary: Written for Adrianna99 as part of the Yuri On Ice Secret Santa 2018.One eyeful of mushroom-brown curls, black eyes glittering with mischief, and Victor is lost.“Hello,” he gasps, as he scoops the puppy up and away from her equally adorable littermates, “how would you like to come home with me?”





	Dog Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adrianna99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrianna99/gifts).



> A Note: There are a few references to Vicchan, but no mention of harm or death, and this piece is mostly intended as pure fluff from Victor's (ridiculously smitten) POV. 
> 
> I hope this gift gives a little cheer this year! I enjoyed working on it and hopefully you'll enjoy reading it just the same :)

One eyeful of mushroom-brown curls, black eyes glittering with mischief, and Victor is _lost_.

“Hello,” he gasps, as he scoops the puppy up and away from her equally adorable littermates, “how would you like to come home with me?”

She squeaks, squirms in his grasp, and licks the knuckle closest to her face. All warm, wriggling fur and indignant noises. It’s as good a confirmation as Victor needs.

“Well, I don’t know. What are your demands?” He asks her.

The puppy huffs, nose buried in his chest pocket as she inspects him with her tiny, scrabbling paws.

Victor smiles and says, gently, “Ah, I see. I think we can meet those requirements.”

He nods at the breeder and she gestures for him to sit at the nearby table, where there’s paperwork and a quaint tea set laid out.

She’s a pretty, middle-aged woman, who Hiroko introduced him to as “Yuuri’s Victor” (a stamp of approval apparently, given how it makes her gasp delightedly,) and everything about her radiates forthright affection.

“You’ll take good care of her,” she says, slow enough that he can understand, “I can tell.”

The affirmation has Victor blushing, beaming; he signs the papers with a flourish and bounces the puppy in one hand, making her yip excitedly. Tiny tail thumping against his thumb. Victor is enjoying being here, where Yuuri’s the celebrity instead of him, but also wants to get home. Get back to the apartment with Yuuri, and Makka, and introduce their new family member to them.

“Thank you so much,” he says, in his still novice Japanese, and the breeder smiles brightly. Clearly already won over, even as she begins to list off basics - grooming, food, everything Victor already knows. Has been brushing up on ever since he started planning this, nearly eleven months ago.

He listens. Doesn’t want to be rude or ungracious. Manages to maintain an attentive smile when the puppy starts chewing on the lapel of his jacket which, really, is his own fault for wearing a his third most expensive coat to pick up _a puppy_. When it’s finally time to leave, he offers her a bow and earns a gentle hand squeeze from her.

She helps him with clipping the puppy into her harness - somehow, despite his best efforts, a bit big, so she looks even smaller than she is. Before they go, the breeder holds the pup’s chin. Talks in low, quick Japanese to her, and Victor gets the impression she’s imparting wisdom. Or giving her a final warning, it's hard to tell with the intensity of the one-sided conversation. After a minute or so, she pats the puppy on the head and the dog bounds towards Victor.

“What was that about?” He asks Hiroko on the way back to the inn, where he’s spending the night before flying back to St. Petersburg tomorrow.

She laughs at him, which is good an answer as any.

 

The idea came to Victor a month or two after Yuuri moved to Russia. After a discussion they had over Makkachin attempting to clamber out of her bath in order to better soak the both of them, the long and short of which was that they wanted another dog, but felt it would be better put off until at least Victor’s retirement, when one of them would be freer to wrangle another set of paws.

Victor retires a year later and puts his plan into motion thus:

  1. Contact the Katsukis
  2. Track down breeder
  3. Acquire Dog
  4. Profit



Having successfully completed the first three steps, he feels justified in spending the rest of his evening taking adorable photos of the puppy, though he has to physically restrain himself from sending them to Yuuri and ruining the surprise. It’s a reflex now, to share things like that, to see something and think, _Yuuri would like this_. A change from the keen, sharp longing he’d feel way back when. In the old days when he didn’t know it was loneliness he felt.

It was agonising, parting for this trip. Telling Yuuri he wouldn’t be home until New Year’s Eve, watching the absence well up in his eyes even as they were still standing together. Embracing like they were glued to one another in the airport. Victor isn’t sure how he coped before Yuuri - isn’t sure how he’s coping now.

“What do you think, pup?” He asks the puppy, as he distracts himself with a particularly artsy shot of her doing her level best to tear apart a house slipper.

She growls, though with her size it sounds a more like an electric pencil sharpener than a vicious animal, and Victor looks up. Has to laugh, and carefully extricate the shoe from her mouth, which is a lot less precarious a task than it ever was with Makka (who wouldn’t bite, but _would_ tear away from him, instigating the most frustrating game of hide and seek Victor ever had to play.)

_There’s something to be said for tiny dogs_ , he thinks, plucking her up and placing her on the bed where she sets about sniffing everything for the umpteenth time. Meandering like a sentient dust mote, inspecting every inch of the bed and whatever part of Victor’s body she comes across on top of it.

She reaches his elbow, where he reaches down and starts stroking her silky ears. Stops expanding his gallery of puppy pics in order to lavish touch upon her.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘puppy’, can I?” Victor mutters down at her.

The puppy seems uninterested in answering, more concerned with licking his fingers when he tries to get close enough to stroke her again. Black eyes bright as she deflects his attempts at petting with her tiny tongue. She doesn’t look quite real, Victor thinks. More like a toy or a teddy bear than a dog.

Makkachin had been small as a puppy, but this is ridiculous. The new puppy is small enough to fit in one hand - not that she’ll let him try it, apparently convinced that said hand is a new and wonderful toy for her to play with - and a strange, sad sensation settles in Victor’s stomach.

He pauses. Watches, quietly, as she sets about nibbling him. Her curly head cocking one way, then the other, and she sticks her tongue out in a way that’s familiar somehow. An echoey, hand-me-down memory that creeps up on Victor in much the same way as a slap does.

“Oh,” he says, “you look like Vicchan.”

The puppy has no reaction to this. Why would she? She has no idea who Vicchan is.

_And_ , he thinks, a little wryly, _wasn’t that the point?_ The whole reason for trekking out to Hasetsu to track down the breeder who sold the Katsuki family a dog nearly fourteen years ago?

He’s struck, momentarily, by the thought that he is trespassing on a memory. That he’s clumsily traipsing over part of Yuuri’s past. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. Maybe he should have planned this with Yuuri together. Picked a dog from a nice Russian breeder, with no connections to Vicchan.

He has a vision of presenting the puppy to Yuuri and making him cry hot, ugly tears. It’s not a nice thought, and Victor is frozen on his bed, stomach twisting at the very idea that he might, once again, be responsible for making Yuuri Katsuki _cry_. Teeters, slip-slides on the brink of doubt for a second until a quizzical little bark snaps him out of it.

He stares down at the puppy who, unhappy that he’s no longer playing, is sitting primly on her hind legs and staring back up at him.

Her brown curls are glistening, gorgeous, and when his ring finger twitches she darts forward, eager and honest and _so cute he wants to cry_. She tramples his doubts under paws barely big enough to leave a dent in the bed sheets.

“Okay,” he breathes, “name time.” Picks her up and cradles her as he falls back against the pillows, cuddles her close while indecision lets go of its grip on him. He sprawls and settles her on his chest, where she wriggles until he releases her.

He can’t exactly call her Vicchan. That feels weird, and kind of rude. And, while Victor doesn’t generally see the point in baseless humility, it does seem a _particular_ shade of arrogant to name her ‘Victor’. He shouldn’t be giving her a name at all, really, given she’s meant to be Yuuri’s dog. But he also can’t keep calling her ‘puppy’. It’ll give her a complex, or something, he thinks.

Victor rubs her furry little belly as he mulls it over.

The puppy flops, unashamedly, onto her side to give him better access. Sticks out her pink tongue and pants under his touch. Strikes him again with the resemblance to a photo on Yuuri’s phone, of a dog Victor never got to meet, and then - oh.

_Oh_ , he thinks. _If it’s only temporary, it doesn’t really matter, surely?_ As a name springs forth, like an offering from the dark, dog pertaining depths of his own brain.

He rearranges himself so he can better watch her lolling under his hand. Smiles to himself and softly says:

“How about Vika?”

 

Vika travels well. Whuffs and yips interestedly through the terminal, tail wagging so hard it’s a brown blur behind her. She’s excited, apparently afraid of nothing, and Victor knows for sure that he’s made the right choice.

Once on the plane she manages to win the heart of every flight attendant - as well as a few extra drinks for Victor. He’s not used to being overlooked but really, he can’t blame them when faced with Vika’s impossible size to fluff ratio. Not for the first time, he’s grateful for his wealth, allowing him to pay the extra cost to have Vika travelling with him. Where he can reach out and touch her, remind himself she’s real and soft, and soon to be _theirs_.

The flight is pleasant enough, save for one moment half an hour from home, when he’s hit with longing for Yuuri and Makkachin so hard it’s physical, gripping him like a lout by the lapels. He finds himself looking over at Vika, who’s tired herself out and is snoring in her travel case. Oblivious to anything but her own feet and feelings.

The tightening passes. Lets go of Victor, and he passes the rest of the flight taking photos of Vika to bombard Yurio with when they land. By the time he gets out of Pulkovo he’s half convinced he could plaster the entirety of their apartment with pictures of the puppy - who has woken up to stare, sleepily, at the scenery passing her by.

He’d be pointing it out, talking to her about it, but he’s tired and misses home (misses Yuuri, misses Makka, misses knowing he’s somewhere he belongs.) So he climbs into his taxi and yawns until they pull up outside the apartment block. Slips the driver a few extra notes and earns a terse nod of thanks before Victor’s left, dog and all, to make his sleepy way up the stairs.

It’s late enough that most of their neighbours are out, and Victor knows Yuuri won’t be home. Either out for his morning jog, or on his now not-too-infrequent sojourns with Yurio to the ballet studio. Which means that the apartment is empty when Victor steps back into it. Empty, but not hollow. Not like it used to be. He pauses in the doorway to just bask in it, the blessing of the _lived-in_. How the walls are Home rather than Residence, with just the help of a few extra shoes in the entrance, the spare glasses on the side - the unspoken but ever-present proof of life.

He calls out a greeting - half checking the coast is clear, half habit. Even knowing Yuuri shouldn’t be here, part of him expects to hear a muffled _‘okaeri’_ from somewhere in the apartment. Victor hums at the lack of response and makes a beeline for the bedroom. Dumps his bags just inside before placing Vika’s case carefully onto the bed.

She seems to sense that this is something important. Sits up and watches him shut the bedroom door with alert eyes, silent for the first time since Victor picked her out of her litter over a laggy video call months ago.

Victor kneels down (still towers over her, even from this position,) and Vika looks up at him with big, trusting eyes. The steady thump-thump of her tail against the case the only sound.

“Well, here we are,” Victor tells her, opening the case to release her, “this is your new home.”

He does a little flourish with his hand, like a fancy butler in a movie; Vika looks at him, then his hand, then back again. Considers him, for a moment, before padding forward and waiting, expectantly.

Victor huffs. _This_ is something Makkachin also did, the first time he brought her home, and he wraps one hand round Vika’s little tummy. Lifts her gently out of the case and places her on the floor.

Vika whuffs, almost indignantly, almost like this wasn’t exactly what she was expecting him to do, and proceeds to explore. Starts sniffing, roving over the carpet of the bedroom, while Victor watches her go.

He has a few things to prepare before Yuuri gets home so he takes the opportunity to text Yurio. Check that he’s with Yuuri, and bribe him into keeping him out until Victor’s ready.

 

**Витя Кацуфоров:**

_Package is secure. Do you have eyes on the target?_

******маленький котенок:**

_stop that_

_how long?_

**Витя Кацуфоров:**

_Package just needs wrapping. Call it half an hour?_

 

There’s a thump, and Victor looks up to find Vika entranced by the door. Blinking up at it like it’s a mystery while it wobbles with the force of impact.

He stands up, says, “let’s not headbutt the doors, hmm?” before swooping down to pick her up in his free hand.

She goes happily and for a second he’s worried she’s actually dazed, hurt herself, but then she licks his palm and squeaks the entire minute it takes him to move from one end of the apartment to the other. Heading towards the spare room, where he’s been slowly, stealthily preparing everything.

“This is the treasure trove, Vika,” he tells her in a stage whisper.

Vika stops squeaking, and Victor opens the door. It’s a shame it doesn’t creak, really, for the sheer drama of it, but Victor knows when to pick his fights. He slides into the room, shuts the door behind him with all the grace of a cat-burglar. Sets Vika on the spare bed, next to his phone, then starts rummaging through the cupboard for the bag he hid away shortly before leaving.

Tucked away, behind a box of Yuuri merchandise, is the bag Victor’s looking for. A small, leather bag, just the right size to slip behind the only thing in the apartment Yuuri won’t touch. He retrieves it with a victorious noise, and turns back to the bed. Drops down onto it, making Vika bounce a little on the mattress - Victor cooes an apology and strokes her head when she yips in alarm.

“Sorry, little one, but look!”

He shakes the contents of the bag out onto the bed. Lets her come over and start sniffing them before he explains, “now, I know you’re beautiful - perfect, really. And who can improve on perfection?”

Vika licks the handle of the puppy-sized hairbrush. Then she nudges it with her nose onto the floor.

“Me. I can.” Victor says, “Though you do present a...particular challenge on that front.”

And boy, _does_ she. With her thick, glossy curls, and the perfect pinkness of her tongue, sticking out while she sniffs her way back towards his knees. Far too smart, too interested in everything for it to be legal; he wants to tuck her away, safe away from the world, just as much as he’s aching to show her off on instagram.

He sighs. Lets her investigate each and every item between them - though he reaches down to rescue the brush before she can get too involved in her inquiries.

Once she’s settled down a bit, he sets about using the brush. First gently, then softly, firmly grooming her curls. After a moment of bewilderment, she seems to enjoy the motions. Tilts her chin up so he can scratch it, turns practically liquid when he playfully pulls it across her belly. And this, at least, is familiar. Hypnotic in the rhythm of brush stroke to brush stroke. It comes to him as a form of meditation, of clearing out the tangles and focusing on one central point. The thing that brings his thoughts back together.

“Yuuri’s going to love you,” he whispers. Words pulled out of him, like water through a crack. And he continues on, thoughts trickling out aloud while the puppy starts to doze under his hands.

“He’s your other dad. You’ll know him when you see him - can’t miss him really. You’ll love him because…well. Who doesn’t?” He finishes brushing her fine coat, and turns to the tiny collar that caught his eye the day before he left for Japan.

It’s blue, the same vivid shade as Yuuri’s glasses. Stupidly small and charming, with a bow on the front. It’ll fit Vika until she’s a bit bigger. Victor slips it on her gently, carefully. Buckles it and primps it so it sits comfortably on her.

Vika looks up at him, sleepily. The bow-tie on the front of the collar is darling; the look she is giving him is not.

He can’t help the laugh that snorts out of him, rubs her tummy and apologises, before grabbing his phone for the inevitable pictures.

There’s a notification for a message, and when he swipes it open, it’s Yurio.

 

**маленький котенок**

_please tell me you’re not wrapping a dog_

 

Then, two minutes later:

**маленький котенок**

_hey how many rooms does your place have?_

 

Victor frowns, texts back an obnoxious, bolded **“???”,** and starts packing the brush and the other items back into the bag. His phone buzzes with a response.

 

**маленький котенок**

_never mind_

_back in ten_

 

Ten minutes is enough time for Victor to move onto the next phase of the plan: Staging. 

Mostly this involves him spreading himself, attractively over the sofa, with Vika on his stomach, so they’re the first thing Yuuri sees when he lets himself in. He is fully aware he’ll probably forgo this plan in favour of glomping him into a hug, and announcing “Look! Yuuri! Our new child!” but Victor is allowed to dream big.  He takes himself and Vika into the living room, ready to pose artfully with a dog on his stomach.

He pops Vika (apparently now firmly asleep,) onto the sofa cushion, and does a quick sweep of the room for any signs of mess. The apartment is pretty clean - the pair of them being, thankfully, fairly tidy people - but Makka’s bed has moved from its usual spot under the window, to the side of the sofa.

Makkachin must have been laying the abandonment on thick while he was away, because one of her old beds (that he bought her when she outgrew her first one) has taken the window spot. Pressed up against the radiator, no doubt so she can better leech its warmth. While not by nature manipulative, she is smart enough to know what a weapon she wields in eliciting guilt from her owners. Uses it mercilessly when she's been ignored for too long, or fed The Wrong Food, or just feels particularly wont to do so.

Victor moves her current bed back to its place, leaves the old one beside it; if she’s using it as a comfort blanket (or, more likely, a weapon in her well-developed arsenal of emotional blackmail) then there’s no harm in leaving it out a bit longer. Letting her have her way for as long as possible, given she’s about to have to share her space with a puppy.

“Makkachin’s going to have a field day with you,” he tells Vika, who snores on, oblivious.

Half an hour later, Victor is drooping on the sofa with Vika sprawled across his chest, little body rising and falling with each breath.

He started texting Yurio when Yuuri was five minutes late, and the only reply he’s received so far is a cryptic ‘d _elete my number and die_ ’, followed by ' _god i hate this dog’_. Victor would normally use this as a jumping point for a good, long session of winding the teenager up, but instead he's...not worried, exactly, but sort of...negatively excited. Anxious, he supposes the word is, though nowhere near what he’s seen Yuuri stricken with.

Victor could _call_ Yuuri, but given he’s supposed to be in Japanon business another week, it’s dicey. Yuuri is something of a sleep hypocrite, and whenever they’re separated, he gets all disapproving (though not quite enough to mask his delight) when he finds out Victor’s staying up to talk to him. The time difference isn’t on Victor’s side right now, and so he lies on the sofa, reminding himself that Yuuri has probably just gone to the bakery they frequent on his way home. Picked up some of those little pastry things he loves, with jam and fruit and the crumbs that get everywhere.

Victor’s lost in the thought of brushing those crumbs off Yuuri’s cheeks when the door slams open. Swings, bangs into the wall, the sound jolting Victor upright and Vika into his lap, where she yelps and whines until Victor cradles her with one hand.

Yuuri - identified by the muffled string of cursing that follows this calamitous entrance - appears to be having trouble getting in. The sounds of Makkachin’s panting, the click of her nails against the floor is music to Victor’s ears and he quickly arranges himself so he doesn’t look like he was drooling with his face pressed against the cushions.

“You two are going to kill me,” Yuuri says in irritable Japanese, and Victor takes a second to realise he’s probably talking to Makkachin.

There’s the sound of rustling, then jangling, and Makkachin trots in. A small bag of shopping in her mouth, accompanied by her own lead. Both get dropped to the ground the minute she spots Victor, and then she bounds over, like a dog half her age.

Yuuri’s exasperated cry trails off just as Makkachin skids to a halt by Victor’s knees. Eyes fixed on Vika who yawns back, unbothered.

Victor savours the moment his eyes fall back on Yuuri. Drinks him in, all over again. The way his cheeks are reddened from the cold, his deep, dark eyes wide with surprise. He’s bundled up in a smart, blue coat, carrying two bags and looking very disgruntled about it.

He’s flustered, and beautiful, and he says, “ _oh_ ” like it’s a revelation.

Victor beams at him and Yuuri’s shock turns soft. Warm. Pleased surprise spreads across his features and he takes a step forward, before seeming to snag on something; probably the tiny dog in Victor’s lap, who is responding to Makkachin’s investigatory sniffing with disinterested lip-licking.

“I’m taking on a new pupil,” Victor says, playfully, “though she’s a little small for the skates yet.”

“Victor-” Yuuri starts, stops. His expression turns sheepish and it’s at this instant that Victor realises Yuuri’s still holding a straining leash.

His eyes follow the arc of the material which ends, abruptly, at the collar on a small, black poodle. Who is currently trying, very hard, to join Makkachin on the sofa.

Victor’s stomach does a horrible, quivering thing. Like realisation seeping in from his gut upwards, instead of from the top, down. He looks back at Yuuri, who appears to be trying to hold back laughter.

“Please tell me you didn’t steal that.”

Yuuri kicks the door shut behind him, and Victor adds, “actually, I don’t care if you did - _Yuuri_ -”

“His name’s Maksim,” Yuuri says, putting his bags down and shucking off his coat, “and no, I didn’t steal him.”

“A shame,” Victor mutters, “you’d make a great scoundrel.”

Yuuri shoots him a look over his shoulder, then unclips the leash and suddenly Victor has three dogs clambering over him. Makkachin sniffing everything in reach, Vika looking very excited by all the commotion, and Maksim turning, indecisively, from Victor to Yuuri and back again.

He never thought there could be such as thing as Too Many Dogs, but Victor is beginning to suspect that concept might actually exist. He shifts, places Vika carefully down (where she is immediately set upon by Makkachin’s licking spree, and Maksim getting close before jumping away again), then makes a beeline for Yuuri.

Yuuri is ready for him, arms open and smile free for Victor to press his lips against. He’s warm, under the last few fragments of winter chill, and Victor sets about kissing the remaining cold out of him. Lets his words direct his mouth, his heart spilling over and out; Yuuri holds him close, holds him up, and kisses ferociously back. Like he’s fighting a battle for Victor - like he doesn’t know he’s already won.

They part when Victor starts getting dizzy, when he can feel Yuuri shaking beneath him. There’s a moment they share, whenever they do this. Stretched seconds, eking out a whole other love in the time it takes Victor to remember that’s what this is. That he’s allowed this, that Yuuri is allowing him it. 

This time the moment ends on a bark, and Victor turns to look back. Find three sets of eyes on them. The shaking beneath his arms becomes more pronounced, Yuuri spilling over with laughter and Victor knows what he finds funny. Doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t need explanation more than the three dogs sitting - tiny Vika, flanked by Makka on her left, and Maksim on her right - staring at them.

“So, there was no sponsorship meeting?” Yuuri finally says, pulling Victor back into the room.

He gives Yuuri his best charming grin and tugs him towards the sofa.

"Of course there was! Best sponsor of all. Look at her,” he gestures at Vika, who stands when they approach. Presses her paws to Yuuri’s trouser legs when he’s close enough.

When he sits, Victor slides down next to him, and nods at Maksim.

“Was this gentleman keeping you company while I was gone, Yuuri?”

Yuuri, in the middle of lifting Vika onto his lap, gives him a wicked, lopsided smile.

“I usually spend your trips in the company of handsome men, yes.”

Maksim barks, and jumps up, scrabbles against Victor’s knees until Victor bestows him with head scritches.

Handsome is an understatement. His fur is ebony dark and, while bigger than Vika, he’s obviously still a puppy. Paws still too big for his body, all youthful exuberance. He nearly falls over from leaning too heavily into Victor’s touch, and Victor gasps delightedly.

“Yuuri,” he says, breathless, “did you…”

“So did you,” Yuuri replies, and when Victor looks over, he’s looking down at Vika like he’s died and gone to heaven. “Who is this?”

“Well, she doesn’t really have a name, not technically.”

Victor smiles when Yuuri looks up at him; wants to frame the image forever, wants to record it, commit it to tape in his own mind.

Then, quietly, Yuuri says, “she looks just like Vicchan.”

No tears accompany the statement. No matter how heart-aching it sounds on Yuuri’s tongue. A soft revelation, a statement of fact. Vika looks like Vicchan, and she is currently doing her damned hardest to bury herself in Yuuri’s hands, having already conquered his heart.

“I know,” Victor says. Reaches up, wraps one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders - still revels in the way he leans in, leans against his side. “I’ve been calling her Vika.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows and Victor’s heart stops, swoops, sickeningly. Then Yuuri’s smiling again.

“She looks like a Vika.”

Victor leans over, sags against Yuuri in relief.

“I saw her and just knew she was the one.”

“Hmm. Did you actually go to Japan?” Yuuri asks, startling Victor.

Victor sits back, lifts Maksim (who has stopped waiting and is instead actively trying to climb onto his lap) and buries his fingers in his dark fur. Marvels at his softness, his frantic need to Be With Them, up on the sofa.

“I did,” he shifts so that Makkachin can climb up too, resting her chin on his knee while the puppies clamber, uncertainly, towards each other, “Mama Hiroko wants to know when we’re next going to visit.”

That makes Yuuri pause.

The puppies sniff one another, almost comical in their size difference. Vika licks Maksim’s snout, and Maksim flops down with a soft “oof”, paws playfully at her. He’s wearing a collar, a strip of bright magenta visible through his fur, and Victor’s fingers itch for his phone, to take a photo and share it with the world.

Instead, he looks at Yuuri. At the tangle of his hair, the curve of his cheeks. He looks at him and he wants, badly, to bury his face in the crook of his neck.

“You went to Hasetsu?”

“I needed your parents’ help finding the breeder. She doesn’t advertise online, surprisingly.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, giving him a faintly owlish look.

There’s a squeak, and they both look down in time to find Maksim and Vika wrestling. Vika sitting atop Maksim, who has the faintly dazed air of the confused.

“ _Maksim_...” Yuuri sighs, in a way that tells Victor that losing fights with tiny things is a recurring theme for this puppy.

“Was Vicchan a fighter?”

Yuuri frowns, as he gently lifts Vika off of Maksim, “no? He didn’t really have anyone to fight with though.”

“Hmm. She probably doesn’t get it from him then,” Victor muses.

Yuuri stops, Vika still held aloft in his hands, where she kicks and wags her tail.

“...You went to Hasetsu to find a breeder. Victor, did you-” he turns, suddenly, towards him - Vika lets out a startled sound, and he seems to remember he’s holding her, tucks her carefully against his chest and strokes her until she settles again.

The light in his gaze is almost overwhelming, scoring over Victor’s skin and bones, into the very core of him. Victor buries his fingers in Maksim’s fur again, rubbing and stroking while the puppy writhes happily across his knees. He has that faint feeling again, of being a clumsy oaf, stomping over something tender and treasured of Yuuri’s.

“Vika is Vicchan’s great-niece.” he says. Gentle. Quiet like he's cracking a safe, watching Yuuri’s face for the slightest response.

Yuuri blinks, mouth hanging open. Doesn’t look devastated so much as devoid of sound. He looks like he’s searching Victor, scanning him and studying his face. After a moment, he looks down, at the puppy in his arms, and laughs.

Victor expected a far few responses, of which laughter was low on the list. But Yuuri has a nice laugh, and he’s not crying, and Victor wants to kiss him again. Is only held back by the dogs in between them.

Yuuri fixes him with a bright, burning grin, and Victor falls in love all over again.

“Maksim is Makka’s nephew.”

And when he looks down at him, Victor can see it. In his gangly little limbs, the easy, playful curiosity. The only difference, really, is his colour. He looks over at Makkachin, who’s snoring against his thighs, and thinks _oh._ Thinks little else as his heart tightens, then expands in his chest - presses against his ribs as he thinks _I don’t deserve this_ , then, _no, I do, we do._

“We did exactly the same thing?”

“We did exactly the same thing.” Yuuri confirms, and reaches out to brush Victor’s hair out of his eyes.

His touch is gentle, warm. Burns through Victor's skin even after all this time. Victor is sunk, and smitten, and so lost for this man. For this family they’re making, the puppies warm and wriggly in their grasp. What else can he do but swoop in, find his way back home on Yuuri’s lips?

He kisses him, and is kissed. Lit up on the inside by it, trying his best to bleed his happiness out, to share it with Yuuri. He pulls back and Yuuri is bright too, looking less awestruck than Victor feels, but no less awesome.

“We got each other secret dogs for Christmas,” he whispers, and Yuuri shakes his head. Disbelieving as much as he’s obviously enchanted. Eyes bright, glittery in that way that says he’s found what he was looking for.

“Can you imagine anything else you’d want for Christmas?”

Victor thinks of his phone, almost at capacity with pictures of Vika, begging to be filled with pictures of Maksim, and Makka, and the pair of them. He presses his face into Yuuri’s neck, feels Maksim’s tiny teeth nibbling at his fingertips. Can see Vika leaning, heavily, into Yuuri, while Makkachin snores beside them.

He sighs. Lets the feeling of being home seep into him, and wonders how he went through life without this.

“You spoil me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri tilts his head to rest it against Victor’s, doesn’t say anything because Victor’s right. He knows he is, and he doesn’t resist when Yuuri nudges him with his shoulder.

“Next year, let’s get three.”

**Author's Note:**

> Usual caveat that surprise pets are not the best idea, but luckily this is fiction and these two Goofballs In Love are the best dog dads.
> 
> I hope this was a sweet little Christmas treat for you, and happy holidays y'all :D


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